Everywhere I turned; “Hazy! Hazy! Sign here!” “Hey Hazy, will you write this postcard to my mom for me?” “Aww Hazy, what I wouldn’t give to pick your super-creative, ultra-talented brain for an hour.”

Shouting from every corner, greedy fingers with long black nails clawing at my sleeves, hundreds of white-hot flashes blinding me and oh so many offers of representation, I couldn’t keep track. It seems Hazy had become a household name.

I was overwhelmed. What sort of unmanageable monster had I created? I had to stealthily dart down dark, deserted streets and hide behind parked cars. I had to use an alias. I went incognito.

Okay, maybe the hood was because it was raining and my $14.99 tourist rip-off umbrella broke after 1 minute of use. And perhaps the grim look on my face was not due to the hoards of people vying for my attention but because I was paying tribute to the victims of Ground Zero at the time. Still, it’s nice to imagine, isn’t it? Success of a certain magnitude?

And, why not? I don’t believe that only a select few are earmarked for stardom from time of conception. I doubt we come equipped with some sort of unique barcode that’s scanned at birth and separates us into two distinct piles:

~ will be famous

~ will be a janitor

Not that there’s a darn thing wrong with being a janitor, of course. It takes all kinds to make the world tick. I myself, tend to get a definite and deep satisfaction from the sheen of my freshly washed floor, albeit short-lived. (The sheen, that is)

I believe anyone can be anything provided they believe it too. So work towards it, grasp it, nurture it, buy it, own it, polish it and believe it. Pretty soon, you’ll need a hood as well.